Publisher Description

Set in the steamy, stormy landscape of South Carolina, this New York Times bestseller from the author of Queen Bee is the unforgettable story of one woman's courageous journey toward truth…

Born and raised on idyllic Sullivan's Island, Susan Hayes navigated through her turbulent childhood with humor, spunk, and characteristic Southern sass. But years later, she is a conflicted woman with an unfaithful husband, a sometimes resentful teenage daughter, and a heart that aches with painful, poignant memories. And as Susan faces her uncertain future, she realizes that she must go back to her past. To the beachfront house where her sister welcomes her with open arms. To the only place she can truly call home...

Author Biography

Dorothea Benton Frank was born and raised on Sullivan's Island in South Carolina. She was the New York Times bestselling author of numerous novels, including Sullivan's Island, Plantation, Pawleys Island, Shem Creek, and Isle of Palms.

Review

Praise for Sullivan's Island

"The setting and the characters are blazingly authentic…Frank evokes the eccentric Hamilton family and their feisty Gullah housekeeper with originality and conviction; Susan herself—smart, sarcastic, funny and endearingly flawed—makes a lively and memorable narrator. Thanks to these scrappily compelling portraits, this is a rich read."—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
 
"Sullivan's Island is hilarious and wise, an up-to-the-minute report on what it is like to be alive and female in the South Carolina Lowcountry today."—Pat Conroy
 
"Dottie Frank's take on the South Carolina Lowcountry is tough, tender, achingly real, and very, very funny. Sullivan's Island roars with life."—Anne Rivers Siddons
 
"In Sullivan's Island, southern womanhood has found a new voice, and it is outrageous, hilarious, relentless and impossible to ignore."—John Berendt
 
"A satisfying treat."—Orlando Sentinel
 
"Frank's wit, her fast pacing and the details of Lowcountry life and place give the novel a solid grounding…The book's greatest pleasure lies in the delightfully realized Susan, who has all the pluck, charm and gutsy good humor anyone might wish for."—The State

"One heck of a beach book…Frank keeps you reading compulsively."—The Charlotte Observer
 
"Filled with lowcountry and Gullah legend, this delightful contemporary romance is a very moving story of family, love and place."—Knoxville News-Sentinel

Review Quote

"The setting and the characters are blazingly authentic...Frank evokes the eccentric Hamilton family and their feisty Gullah housekeeper with originality and conviction; Susan herself--smart, sarcastic, funny and endearingly flawed--makes a lively and memorable narrator. Thanks to these scrappily compelling portraits, this is a rich read."-- Publishers Weekly (starred review)

Discussion Question for Reading Group Guide

INTRODUCTION Sullivan''s Island is a real place, a barrier island seven miles off the coast of Charleston, South Carolina. Home to Fort Moultrie, which is known for its role in the American Revolution and the Civil War, it is also called the "Ellis Island of Slavery" as over 200,000 slaves from the west coast of Africa entered our country on its shores between 1770 and 1775. As a young soldier, Edgar Allen Poe was stationed at Fort Moultrie and wrote The Gold Bug during that time. It is said the island is a haunted place, populated with the ghosts of broken hearts and lives of untold courage. Dorothea Benton Frank''s first novel, Sullivan''s Island combines the stories of love and family with history and place. Set in 1963 and in 1999, it compares and contrasts coming of age in the tumultuous early sixties to coming of age in the peace of the early nineties. It introduces the Gullah Culture to many people for the first time and explains its significance in forming the traditions and values of the island children, which they carry into their adult lives. Sullivan''s Island looks at the rigors of Catholicism during the early sixties, shattered childhood innocence, betrayal and revenge and the magic of Lowcountry life. The protagonist, Susan Hamilton Hayes is in her early forties when we meet her. She is the wife of Tom, a prominent Charleston attorney and the mother of their daughter, Beth. In the prologue, we watch her life implode and then watch and learn how she puts it back together with great humor and pure grit. We travel back with her to revisit the bitter disappointments of her childhood until she discovers decades later that those juvenile conundrums and challenges gave her the strength to face her adult years. And, most of those lessons were taught to her by Livvie Singleton, an African American woman, descended from slavery. The Lowcountry itself as important as any character in Sullivan''s Island , because its rich history and great beauty teach all the characters who they are and where they belong on the planet. Perhaps most importantly, the Lowcountry and the night sky of Sullivan''s Island guide the characters to connect with the spiritual side of life and show them that love never dies. ABOUT DOROTHEA BENTON FRANK Dorothea Benton Frank grew up on Sullivan''s Island, South Carolina and is the author of three NY Times bestselling novels -- Sullivan''s Island (Jove 2000), Plantation (Jove 2001) and Isle of Palms (Berkley 2003). All of her Lowcountry Tales feature a powerful sense of place and strong female characters who tackle life with a healthy sense of humor. Pat Conroy hailed Sullivan''s Island as hilarious and wise and Anne Rivers Siddons said it roars with life. She has been a member of the NJ State Council on the Arts and the Drumthwachet Foundation, both appointments made by the Governor of NJ and currently serves as a member of the NJ Cultural Trust. In addition, she is a trustee of the Montclair Art Museum in Montclair, NJ, the Margaret Mitchell House in Atlanta GA and a member of Writers for Readers, a group that sponsors Literacy Partners in New York. A long time supporter of the arts and education, Ms. Frank has also served on the boards of The American Stage Company, The NJ Chamber Music Society, The Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Dance Company, The Community Foundation of NJ and others. She is married to Peter Frank, the mother of two teenagers and they divide their time between South Carolina and the New York area. She invites readers to visit her web site at Praise Praise for the novels of Dorothea Benton Frank: "Her books are funny, sexy, and usually DAMP WITH SEA WATER." --Pat Conroy "ONE HECK OF A BEACH BOOK...Frank keeps you reading compulsively." -- Charlotte Observer "BLAZINGLY AUTHENTIC...A rich read." -- Publishers Weekly " Sullivan''s Island ROARS WITH LIFE." --Anne Rivers Siddons DISCUSSION QUESTIONS What is the Lowcountry and how important is it to the story of Sullivan''s Island ? What is the Gullah culture and how did it impact the psyche of Susan Hamilton Hayes and her siblings? And, did Livvie Singleton''s legacy have an impact on Susan''s daughter, Beth? Would you say that it was better to have come of age in the sixties or the nineties and what are the principal differences in those decades from Susan''s point of view. Is she right? Susan makes a claim that the world has been made better and safer by the people of her generation. What do you think? Susan''s relationship with Livvie is a powerful one as is her relationship with her own mother. Would you say that her mother''s weakness was as valuable to her as Livvie''s strength? And, would you describe Livvie and Susan''s mother, MC as frustrated by their positions in life? Susan''s father, Hank is a complicated man. Would you say that, if he were a young parent today, that he could be convicted of child abuse? And, why didn''t Marvin Struthers have him arrested for it in 1963? How have attitudes changed about parent''s rights to discipline their children? Susan''s grandfather, Tipa is a classic example of a southern gentleman of his day. Was his bigotry understandable for the early 1960''s? Discuss how the love Susan felt for Livvie grew against the narrow mindedness of her grandfather. Do you think that she loved her grandfather and indeed, did she love her parents? Should Susan have taken Tom back? How realistic is forgiveness and reconciliation in the face of blatant adultery of Tom''s variety? How well did she handle explaining it to Beth and then coping with her relationship with Tom and Beth? Why did Simon Rifkin play such a long lasting role in Susan''s life? Was she na

Excerpt from Book

1999 I began putting my life back together at the feet of my older sister and her family. She lived in Momma''s house--the family shrine--on the front beach of Sullivan''s Island. Every time I went over to the Island--which was frequent in the first months after Tom left--I tried to leave the harsh realities of my new life behind me. My old station wagon rolled slowly across the causeway, liberating my daughter and me from the starched life of the peninsula to the tiny dream kingdom of Sullivan''s Island. Black magic and cunja powder swirled invisibly in the air. The sheer mist became the milky fog of my past. From within the pink and white branches of the overgrown oleanders, which lined both sides of the road, floated the spirits of decades long gone. The haints were still there, just waiting for us in the tall grasses and bushes. Suffice it to say that everything in the Lowcountry was just a-wiggling with life and it wasn''t always a warm body. The spirits urged me to roll down my windows and breathe in the musk-laden drug of the marsh. The scents of plough mud and rotting marsh life filled my senses like a warm shower of rare perfume. Then the sirens sounded their cue and the drawbridge lifted up before us to allow passage for a tall-masted sailboat. We would be detained on the Charleston side for fifteen minutes. I left my car to stand outside and feel the air. Beth stayed in the car listening to the radio. I walked to the edge of the marsh. The full force of the salty air washed my face and, in an instant, I was a young girl again. I was hurrying home to my momma and Livvie, my heart already there. The sweet steam of Livvie''s simmering okra soup beckoned in a long finger all the way from the back porch. In my mind I heard the voices of my brothers and my sister as we converged on the supper table, all of us bickering in Gullah over the largest piece of cornbread. Livvie ran interference, telling us to hush, warning us that Daddy was coming. It was odd what I remembered about growing up. My first associations were tied into the smells of the marsh and the aromas of the kitchen. Maybe I should have done fragrance research instead of planning literacy programs at the county library, but I was always more inclined toward saving the world. One thing was for sure, I needed a job that would let me offer my opinions because, according to everybody I knew, that was one area where I excelled. Livvie. God, not a day passed that I didn''t remember her. She raised me--all of us, actually. Here was an old Gullah woman who put her own five children through college working as a housekeeper. Just when she should have been thinking retirement, she took on the notorious clan of Hamilton hardheaded ignoramuses. She was the captain of our destiny, redirecting our course as often as needed. With every snap of her fingers we woke up to the truths of life and our own potential a little more. It was because of her that we all loved to read. She''d shake her head and lecture. "Feast your hungry brain with a good book," she''d say. "Quit wasting time! Life''s short. Humph!" Humph, indeed. Who was I kidding? It was because of her that we were not all in some treatment program. She had taught us how to think--no small feat. She''d probably have had plenty to say if she could have seen Beth and me right now, playing instead of working. I''d told my boss I had a doctor''s appointment. A tiny lie. But I had an excellent excuse for playing hooky on this particular weekday afternoon. Heat. Over one hundred degrees every day since last week. We were having a heat wave, Lowcountry style. It felt as if old-fashioned southern cooks were deep-frying us in bubbling oil like a bunch of breaded chickens. One flip of the wrist and the whole of Charleston and its barrier islands sizzled in a cast-iron skillet. We''re talking hot, Bubba. Take it from an old Geechee girl. Geechee? That would be someone born in the Lowcountry, which extends from the Ogeechee River down in Georgia clear up to Georgetown, South Carolina. I was raised in the downy bosom of the Gullah culture, as opposed to a Charlestonian reared in the strictures of the Episcopal Church. Big difference. Gullah culture? Ah, Gullah. It''s Lowcountry magic. That''s all. Coming to the Island made me feel younger, a little more reckless, and as I finally went back to my car and closed the door--pausing one moment to lower the audio assault of the radio--I realized the Island also made me lighthearted. I was willingly becoming re-addicted. As we arrived on the Island, I pointed out the signs of summer''s early arrival to Beth, my fourteen-year-old certified volcano. "Oh, my Lord, look! There''s Mrs. Schroeder!" I said. "I can''t believe she''s still alive." The old woman was draped over her porch swing in her housecoat. "Who? I mean, like, who cares, Mom? She''s an old goat!" "Well, honey, when you''re an old goat like her, you will. Look at her, poor old thing with that wet rag, trying to cool her neck. Good Lord. What a life." "Shuh! Dawg life better, iffin you ask me!" I smiled at her. Beth''s Gullah wasn''t great, but we were working on it. "This ''eah life done been plan by Gawd''s hand, chile," I said. It was a small but important blessing how the Gullah language of my youth had become a communication link to her. A budding teenager was a terrible curse for a single parent, especially given the exotic possibilities of our family''s gene pool. But speaking Gullah had become a swift ramp to her soul. Gullah was the Creole language developed by West Africans when they were brought to the Lowcountry as slaves. While it mostly used English words in our lifetime, it had a structure and cadence all its own and most especially it had many unforgettable idiomatic expressions. It was spoken by Livvie, taught to us, and we passed on the tradition to our own children. We used it to speak endearing words to each other, to end a small disagreement or to ignite memories of the tender time we spent with Livvie. When I was Beth''s age every kid on the Island spoke Gullah to some extent, at least those lucky enough to have someone like Livvie. I stopped at the corner for some gas at Buddy''s Gulf Station, the Island institution renowned for price gouging on everything from gasoline to cigarettes. We got out of the car, I to perform the elegant task of pumping the gas and Beth to get a cold Coke. A group of old Island salts were ogling the thermometer in front of Buddy''s store. One of the old men called out to Buddy. "Jesus! If it''s this hot in June, what''s August gone be like?" "Gone sell y''all a loada ice, ''eah?" Buddy said. "Gone be hotter than the hinges on the back door of hell, that''s what!" the old man shot back. "Humph!" I smiled, listening to them. They sounded the same as Islanders had sounded for generations, same accent, same lilt in their speech. Traces of Gullah phrasing. It was my favorite music. As we drove down the Island I decided to take Atlantic Avenue to check the horizon, watch the shrimp boats and container ships. Today''s slow ride did not disappoint us. Boats were everywhere. I pointed them out to Beth. It was the whole world, these container ships, coming and going from our busy port as they had done for centuries. She nodded with me in agreement. First, that it was beautiful, second, that we were lucky to be there. Along our drive by the water, we passed ten or so young mothers pulling their offspring home in wagons from the sweltering beaches, hopping from one bare foot to the other on the blistering asphalt roads. "How stupid is that?" Beth said. "What?" "Shoot, Momma, even I know not to go to the beach without flip-flops or sandals! God, they must be dying!" "Please. Don''t use the Lord''s name, unless you''re in prayer. It''s a hundred years in purgatory." "You do." "I''m an adult and personally responsible for my own immortal soul." "Whatever." She made one of those sounds of disgust, the kind that could be confused with indigestion, used for running defense against parental dominance. Beth. This child got the cream of our genetic smorgasbord. She inherited the Asalit blue eyes, a shade of chestnut hair with more red and wave than mine, my brains and grapefruits (bosoms), Maggie''s tiny waist and when she finally stops growing she could be five feet, nine inches. She was a colt, all legs and a shiny coat, looking for a place to run. She was really beautiful to watch and she worked it too, pulling all her poor momma''s chains. "Two hundred years of Catholicism coursing in your veins is gonna make a lady out of you if it''s the last thing I do," I said. "Well, at least you''re not trying to make me a nun," she said with some relief. "Honey, I wouldn''t encourage my worst enemy to the doors of a convent." "Come on, Momma, step on it. I''m dying to go to the beach! It''s so hot I could scream!" I was just cruising along, enjoying the scene before me and looking around to see if I knew anyone. The Island had changed so much from when I was a child, but thankfully all the attempts to make it slick like Hilton Head or Kiawah had failed. Part of me depended on that. If it stayed the same I still owned it, even though my sister, Maggie, got the Island Gamble. Maggie had laid claim to our ancestral home when our mother closed her eyes for the last time. I got the haunted mirror and that seemed like a fair trade to me. The rest of us had always known Maggie would walk those floors in adulthood. She would raise her children within the same rooms. Tradition was as much a part of her makeup as rebellion was of ours. Digging roots off the Island had been essential to my sanity. I w

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